


And One To Grow On

by warmspringrain



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 02:10:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warmspringrain/pseuds/warmspringrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mels Zucker doesn't have a birthday. At least, not until Amelia and Rory interfere. </p>
<p>Decades of birthday fluff follow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 Mels Zucker doesn't have a birthday.

Amelia finally asks her about it one day at recess. They are trying to play kickball, but it doesn't work very well with only three people; Rory's off fetching the ball out of the teacher's parking lot for the fourth time. Amelia would almost think that Mels was trying to hit the cars on purpose, except that Mels never misses. Taking a sidelong glance at her best friend, she asks, “So when is your birthday, anyway?”

Mels nearly chokes, clearly not expecting the question. She covers her surprise with scorn. “What, afraid I already had a party and you weren't invited?”

Amelia rolls her eyes. “No, stupid. I'm just asking.” She frowns in thought. “We've never even celebrated it in class or anything, made you wear a stupid hat, anything like that.”

Mels shrugs, not knowing what to say. Finally, she mutters, “Maybe I just don't have one.”

Rory has finally gotten back to them, ball in hand. “Have one what?”

Mels and Amelia answer simultaneously:

“Nothing.”

“A birthday.”

Rory looks at Mels, eyes wide. “Of course you do. Everyone has a birthday.”

“Well I don't, okay?” Mels finally snaps. As much as to ignore the surprised hurt in her friends' eyes as to get away from the conversation, Mels snatches the ball from Rory's hands and takes off across the field, shouting over her shoulder, “Now are we going to play or what?”

Rory tries to ask her again later, as they're lining up to go back inside, but this time it's Amelia that snaps at him, “Oh, lay off, will you? If she says she doesn't have a birthday, then she doesn't have one, idiot.” Mels is too grateful for her best friend's defense to hear the drip of hurt still lingering in her voice.

The matter drops, and Mels lets herself believe that her friends have let it go. But two weeks later, Rory catches Mels by the bike rack before school starts. “Here,” he says, shoving a mess of packing paper and tape into her hands.

Mels stares down at the lump in her hands, then glares at him. “What the hell is this?”

Rory looks down and scuffs his feet. “It's a birthday present. For you.” He winces, obviously expecting her to hit him now.

But Mels is too stunned to move. She stares at the misshapen package in her hands at a loss for words. Finally, she manages to croak out, “Told you. Don't have a birthday.”

Rory sighs. “I know you did. You were lying. Obviously. So I figured that if you weren't going to tell us, I'd just make one up. How's October 27th work for you?” He frowns, muttering, “It was supposed to be October 18th, but this took longer than I thought.”

Mels swallows, “Rory, you didn't have to--”

“I didn't do it because I thought I had to,” he cuts her off, surprising both of them. He sighs again and finally looks up at her. “Look, my dad has always said that birthdays are important. It's the one day, every year, that you and everyone else celebrate the fact that you're born, you're alive. And I—I just thought—everyone needs a birthday,” he finishes in a mumble, cheeks flaming in embarrassment.

Mels stares down at the gift in her hands, completely overwhelmed and unable to meet Rory's eyes. Finally, without looking up, she mutters, “My birthday isn't October 27th.”

It's meant to hurt him, to throw back up her carefully constructed walls that Rory has the nerve to just go plowing through, but he just grins up at her. “Aha! So you do have one, then!”

Furious with him now, she shouts, “Yeah, well I'm not telling you when it is!”

Rory, for once, is completely unfazed by her anger. “That's okay. I'll figure it out.” The last bell rings, and Rory yelps in surprise. He starts running, dragging Mels along behind him. “Come on, Mels, we're gonna be late!” Mels could care less, but she lets him pull her to class anyway.

She doesn't open his gift until she's crawling into bed that night. It takes her forever to pry through the wrapping and tape, but when she finally manages to get it all off she gasps in surprise.

It's a small wooden box, obviously handmade. The lid doesn't close properly and it sits unevenly in her hand, but to Mels, it's a thing of beauty. She runs her hands over it reverently and discovers that Rory has even carved her name on the front of it, her whole first name, squeezing the d and y in at the very end when he'd obviously started running out of room. She opens the lid gently, but it still creaks loudly. She catches her breath for several anxious moments, but no one comes. Finally, she lets the breath go and peaks inside. The box is empty but for a scrap of paper that reads “For your treasures. ~R.W.”

Mels closes the lid again and bites her lip until it bleeds. Then she crawls under her bed and moves the floorboard she pried loose ages ago. She hates the thought of tucking Rory's gift in this dark, damp hole, but it's the only place she has of her own, where she knows it won't be taken from her. She still misses the friendship bracelet that Amelia had made her the first month they met. Madame had cut it off her wrist as soon as she had seen it and made Mels watch as it burned. “Sentimental attachments are a weakness, Melody,” Madame had told her sternly, “and you cannot afford to have any weaknesses. You must be perfect for me. My perfect weapon. And weapons don't need personal belongings, do they, Melody?” Mels had shook her head, her eyes on the fire, and willed herself not to cry.

Mels shakes her head now to dislodge the memory and holds the box a bit more tightly before placing it reverently in the hole, filling it with her personal collection. They're all small, meaningless things to anyone else, but in this hole they are Mels' prizes. Stones and dried flowers and hard seed shells she'd found and kept for one reason or another; the shape or the scent or the story she'd told herself about it as she'd walked home. She closes the box's lid reverently, then quickly conceals her hideaway and crawls back into bed, willing herself off to sleep.

 

Amelia casually corners Rory the next day in art class. It's just the two of them, since Mels has been sent to the head teacher's office yet again. Amelia feels a bit sorry for her, since art is one of the few subjects Mels really enjoys. Today's assignment is to draw a scene of something they see every day. Starting to map out the view of the night sky from her windowsill, Amelia asks Rory, “So what was yesterday all about, anyway?”

Rory has his picture angled away from her, and she's clearly broken his concentration as he stares up at her, mouth open in confusion. “Huh?”

Amelia scowls down at her paper and erases harder than necessary. “You and Mels. I saw you, talking before school.” Her scowl darkens at the whine in her voice; she is _not_ jealous. That would be stupid. She just thought that they should have included her in whatever it was, that's all.

A look of understanding dawns in Rory's eyes, and he scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed. “Oh. That. That was...nothing. It was nothing.”

Amelia erases so hard that her paper rips down the center, and she growls in frustration. “Fine then, don't tell me. It's probably something stupid anyway. I don't want to know.”

“No, Ame, it's not like that--” Rory scrambles, but he's too late. Amelia gets up to grab a new sheet of paper, but instead of sitting with Rory again, she moves into an open seat across the room. “Hey, Sam, mind if I sit with you? Ohh, is that your dad's shop? That's so good!”

She's resolutely decided to ignore both Rory and Mels for the rest of the day, but Rory grabs her by the arm on the way out of class, pulling her back. “Ame, look, about yesterday--”

“I already told you, I don't care about whatever stupid thing you two were doing!” Amelia snarls. She tries to yank her arm free, but for being so scrawny his grip is remarkably strong.

“I just got her a birthday present, okay?” Rory shouts at her, and Amelia stops struggling and stares back at him, stunned. He runs his free hand through is hair in agitation. “I wanted to give it to her before school because I knew if anyone else saw she'd just beat me up. That's all it was, okay? It's not a big deal or anything.”

Amelia continues to stare at him before finally whispering, “I thought she wouldn't tell us her birthday.” Oh, she is going to punch Mels _so_ hard when she gets back to class, best friend or no.

Rory somehow manages to look even more embarrassed. “She didn't.”

Beyond frustrated at this point, Amelia snaps, “But you just said--”

“I made one up, okay?” As if just noticing he's still holding her, Rory lets go of her arm and grabs the back of his neck instead. Amelia doesn't move as she stares at him, the pieces finally falling into place. “I just kept thinking of what she said before, and—I mean, you know how my family is about birthdays ( _completely ridiculous_ , Amelia agrees silently)--and so I thought I'd just make one up so she wouldn't feel different or left out.” He finishes and cringes, waiting for Amelia to start yelling again.

She's silent for a few moments, then punches him, hard, once on each arm. “That's for not telling me, stupidface.”

Rory winces, rubbing his arms. “Thought you'd think it was stupid,” he mutters.

Amelia rolls her eyes. “ _You're_ stupid _._ It's a brilliant idea. I want in.”

Rory is looking at her like she's given him Christmas early just as their art teacher walks back in the room. “Amelia Pond! Rory Williams! What on earth are you still doing here? Get back to class immediately!”

Rory begins stuttering apologies, but Amelia just rolls her eyes, mutters a “yes, ma'am” and drags Rory out the door.

 

With Amelia's help, Rory's half-formed idea becomes a full-fledged working schematic. “We can't only pick one day a year—we'll all be dead before we figure out what day it is.”

Rory looks up from his homework to agree, then frowns and adds, “But we also can't just do it all the time either—I can't afford it, and anyway, I doubt Mels would want that.”

Amelia is already scribbling out charts and notes, a calendar open before her, but she nods. “Not to mention Mels' parents.” She hadn't missed the fact that the bracelet she'd given Mels had been missing the following day, or that Mels couldn't quite meet her eyes for the rest of week. Amelia knew she hadn't given it up willingly; Mels had been much too excited when Amelia had given it to her, and had promised to wear it forever as a sign of loyalty. Amelia had had limited encounters with Mels' mother, or whoever she was, and every time the woman looked at her Amelia felt like she'd been measured and found wanting. Amelia blinks, a curiosity breaking through her memories, and she stares at Rory. “What did you get her, anyway?”

Rory's ears turn red, and he doesn't look up from his homework this time. “I umm...I...I made her a box.”

“Oh,” is all Amelia can manage, staring back down at her notes. Now is _not_ the time to point out that he'd never made _her_ anything. And what would she care if he did anyway? She didn't want any stupid box, and certainly _not_ one that Rory had made. Feeling his eyes on her and realizing that she's scowling, Amelia mutters, “I just wonder how she got it home, that's all.”

“Well, I did a pretty crummy job wrapping it,” Rory admits.

Amelia's eyes light up, fixated back on her original plan again. “That's it! We just need to figure out presents that don't look like presents to anyone else! That way she won't get in trouble for having them!”

Rory looks at her apprehensively, clearly believing this is getting way too complicated way too quickly. “Like what, for instance?”

But Amelia just shrugs, completely unfazed. “No idea. But I'm sure we'll think of something. Now, what if we each take one day a month?”

Rory's eyes widen. “I need to come up with six birthday presents a year? Are you crazy? I don't even spend that much time on yo—my parents!”

Amelia sags, disappointed. “Yeah, okay, fine. It just seems stupid to only try once or twice a year to figure it out.”

Seeing her disappointment, Rory gets up and comes over to look at Amelia's calendar. Flipping through it, he says thoughtfully, “What if we took turns for every other month?” Amelia just looks at him, confused, so he points and continues, “See, I could take a day in either January or February. Then you take March or April, and I then I get a day in May or June, and so on. Then she'd only get six gifts a year; three apiece. I could manage that.”

Amelia considers the calendar for a moment before nodding decisively. “Done. And you already did October, so I get November and December. Excellent. And you picked, what, October 27th?” When Rory nods, Amelia marks the date with a big red X. “There. Now we can keep track of which days we've tried until we figure it out.”

Rory watches her as she makes a few more notes, clearly satisfied with herself, before clearing his throat. “So now that we figured that our, can we _please_ get a start on our science project that you came over to work on? It's due in four days and we don't have anything put together yet.”

Amelia just shrugs and keeps writing. “ _You_ can start if you'd like—I've got other things to do and three whole days before I need to start worrying about it.”

 

After that, it becomes their own secret game. Mels tries to fight them at first, but neither child listens to her. Finally, Amelia tells her quite bluntly to just shut up and deal with it. All of the presents are small, thoughtful things – scraps of cloth left from Amelia's Christmas dress that had made Mels sick with envy, or handwritten passages from Mel's favorite stories (Rory had caught her in the library one day, devouring anything she could get a hold of, and he'd never let her live it down). Each gift is easy for her to tuck somewhere into her schoolbag, away from prying hands and eyes. It makes her wonder just how much her friends have guessed about her home life, but she doesn't have the nerve to ask.

 

As they get older, the tradition continues even as the presents change. They buy her dinner or take her to the movies, spoiling her with far better food and treats than she'd ever get for herself (although she steals now, often and without regret, she never does it when she's with them). Amelia picks out jewelry or lotion or perfume, and Rory develops a knack for picking out things she needs but wouldn't ever ask for. She knows he partially does it to keep her from stealing, but that only touches her more.

When he includes bus tokens in with her next gift – a brand new purse, and it's _gorgeous_ , he must have had Amy's help – she grins at him. “Trying to give me a hint or something?”

He grins back. “Well, now you won't have to steal them or get kicked off halfway through your ride. You _might_ even make it to school on time one of these days.”

She laughs and rolls her eyes. “Thanks, _Dad_.” The words are out of her mouth before she's realized what she's said, and she scowls, furious with herself. “I mean, I just--”

But Rory's eyes are twinkling in amusement as he shakes his finger at her. “Now you be home by midnight, young lady, or I'll be forced to ground you.” His smile loosens as he breaks character. “Anyway. Happy Birthday Mels. Right? June 12th? It's totally June 12th, come on.”

Mels just rolls her eyes at him, trying not to show how breathtakingly grateful she is. “As if.”

 

They never miss a two month set, and Amelia, now Amy, keeps dutifully crossing out days on the now-worn calendar. One afternoon she throws her pen down in disgust and glares at Rory, once again dutifully bent over his homework. “Rory, we've been doing this for nearly ten years and we still have no idea when our best friend's birthday is.”

Rory shrugs without looking up. “Ten years is still only sixty days – barely a sixth of a year. We've still got loads of them left.”

Amy huffs at him, “For all we know, we've already figured it out and she's just never going to tell us.”

Rory shakes his head, still intent on the problem he's working on. “You know Mels isn't like that. She would tell us if we got it right.”

Amy glares at the top of his head. “Doesn't it ever bother you that she won't just tell us straight out?”

Rory finally looks up, but now Amy's the one looking down, flipping through the calendar pages in annoyance. “No. Why should it? It's always been a game, and if she told us now it would just ruin the fun. Besides, it's not like she's getting gifts from anyone else,” he adds darkly, trying not to think about the look in Mels' eyes after a long school holiday stuck at home. He shakes his head to clear it, but Amy is staring off into space herself, still scowling in frustration. He watches her for a long moment before adding softly, “You know that if you asked her now, she'd tell you. She trusts you, and the only reason she hasn't yet is because she thinks we want to figure it out ourselves.”

Amy whips her head up to stare at him, taken aback by how easily he just read her mind, but Rory is already buried in his work again, his cheeks turning pink. Amy's mouth opens and shuts several times, a variety of responses dancing across her lips, before she finally rejects them all, huffs at him and rolls her eyes. “I'm not going to ask her, stupid. Anyway, you're just saying that because you're up next.”

Rory grins and look up, finally catching her eye. “Not a chance. I've already got a few ideas that are going to put yours to shame, Amy Pond. Plus, I picked out the date ages ago. I'm going to be right this time, I can feel it.” His grin only widens when she sticks her tongue out at him. He makes a face back, until they're both laughing, uncertainty and homework long forgotten.


	2. Chapter 2

It's River Song's first birthday in prison, and she's spent most of the morning debating over which plan she wants to use to break out and celebrate. She's just decided on number forty-two (it makes her smirk just glancing at it) when she hears the TARDIS land and her heart skips a beat. Not bothering to wait for him to sonic her door, she opens it with the key and badge she nicked on the new officer three weeks ago and rushes over to the gorgeous blue box. Pulling back in the nick of time, she just manages not to crack her forehead as the Doctor barrels out the door. “River Song! How did you get out already, my clever girl?” When she smugly shows him the key and badge, he attempts to school his face into a stern look in order to scold her. He can't manage it, and finally he gives in to grin at her, even letting out a delighted laugh.  

She grins back at him. “I've got far better things to do today than sit in my cell, sweetie.”

His grin widens as he bops her nose. “Course you do! It's your birthday!” Her heart leaps unexpectedly in her chest and she fights to catch her breath, momentarily winded. Of course he knows it's her birthday – they're married, after all, and anyway he had  _been there_  – but still, it's the first time anyone has ever said those words to her and been right. She'd received packages every year at the university –time and space apart wasn't going to stop her parents, apparently –but she'd never been there when they were dropped off. She would just come home from class or dinner or wherever else she'd gone out and found them waiting for her on her doorstep or desk or bed. The gifts were wonderful, but they weren't the same as this – someone looking in her eyes and saying these words to her, ready to spend the entire day with her.

River's still staring at him, eyes wide and a breathless grin still on her face as he grabs her and drags her back into the TARDIS. “So tell me, River: where would you like to go?”

She runs her hands over the console in greeting and the ships hums warmly back. “What's that, sweetie, you didn't plan anything special for my first birthday with you?” She pouts at him, shifting to draw his eyes to her hips and stifles a grin when he flushes. “Must I do  _all_ the work around here?”

She expects him to start sputtering at her, but instead his grin widens, eyes back up on her face. “Right you are, my dear. Just you wait-- I've got the perfect place in mind!” He dances around the console, arms flying as he grabs, pulls and slams levers and buttons, and River can't help but laugh. She feels the TARDIS land, and the Doctor pulls her after him as they run for door.

The Doctor gets there first and comes slamming to a halt upon opening the door. “No, hang on, this is not what I--” But River barrels through the open doorway, too lost in her excitement for the words to register. She comes to a halt a few steps later, a painful lump quickly forming in her throat.

They're standing in a large back yard that's absolutely covered in decorations, streamers and balloons. Every surface has some form of blue, green, gold or silver attached to it or strung through it. Large paper lanterns line the yard, floating softly in the unseasonably warm breeze. River only has a few moments to take it all in before her mother is running out the back door, her father just steps behind.

“Happy Birthday!!!” Amy screams before enveloping River in a tight, warm hug, nearly knocking them to the ground. Rory patiently waits his turn, but the force of his hug still knocks the breath from River's lungs as he wishes her his 'happy birthday' softly. When he pulls away, River stares at her grinning parents, speechless for the second time in the past hour. She turns to the Doctor who's watching her with a soft expression. “Sweetie...” she starts, but has no words to finish.

The Doctor reaches up to scratch his neck, embarrassed. “Yes, well—this is quite—I mean, it's very nice—however, the thing is--”

Rory rolls his eyes. “What I think he's trying to say is that this house was not his intended destination.”

“Stupidface,” Amy spits with real venom. “Didn't think we might also want to see _our own daughter_ on her birthday?”

At Amy's words, the Doctor looks properly ashamed of himself, “You're right. I'm sorry.”

Amy still looks furious, so River steps between them, lacing the Doctor's hand in hers. “Please don't—not on my birthday. Besides, the TARDIS made sure we got here just fine, Mum. He's just only picked me up, promise.”

Amy eyes soften, but she still points a threatening finger at the Doctor. “You're very lucky you've got the two of them looking out for you, mister. I know where my husband keeps the swords.”

As she turns to head back into the house, Rory mutters quietly, “Not anymore, you don't.” When River laughs, he smiles at her. “We're glad you're here. Both of you. Honest. Come on inside—Amy's made enough food to feed us all well into next week.”

“Of course, Dad—we'll be in in just a minute,” she smiles back at him, and he gives her hand a squeeze before following his wife into the house.

When he's gone, River turns to the Doctor, who's still looking mortified. “Listen, River--”

But River misses whatever it is she's meant to listen to as she grabs his face in both her hands and kisses him senseless. She can feel his momentary surprise before he returns her kiss with equal fervor, settling his hands on her shoulders. When they break for air, River stares at him, eyes glowing. “Oh, sweetie. I would go  _anywhere_ with you.” The Doctor stares at her in wonder and kisses her again, his hands moving from her shoulders to tangle in her hair.

When they come up for air the second time, Amy's voice rings across the yard. “Oy! Parents are still here, you two!”

River laughs throatily as the Doctor sputters. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she looks over and yells back, “But  _Mum_! It's my  _birthday_!”

Amy rolls her eyes. “Yes, so I've heard. Are you coming in any time soon, or should Rory and I just start without you?”

“We're coming! Don't you dare start without us, Ponds, we are coming!” the Doctor yells back, dragging River along behind him. Upon entering the kitchen, River stops short, staring around her in awe.

Rory hadn't been kidding about the food. Every available surface is covered: dips and spreads, cheese trays and sandwiches, meats and sides and snacks of every shape and size. There's enough food to stuff an entire planet, and River tells her mother as much.

Amy reddens and answers defensively, “Well, it's your first birthday with us and I wasn't sure what you'd want, so I just made all of your favorites--” River looks again and realizes she's right, “but then I remembered that when you regenerate it's a whole new mouth, new tastes, so I wasn't sure they'd be your favorites anymore, so I just--” but she doesn't get a chance to continue as River hugs her.

“It's perfect, Mum.” River knows that she's addressing them as her parents today more than she ever thought she would, but she's been waiting for the chance for so long that she really has no desire to stop. She pulls back and smiles again. “Thank you.”

Rory's trying to fit one last plate on the overburdened dining room table as he calls, “All the drinks are out back in the coolers, and well as the plates and such. Don't go in the fridge—everything is out now except your cake, you can't have that yet. Real food first, young lady!” River salutes in response before heading outside to grab a plate. She slowly makes her way around the kitchen and dining room, making sure to take a bit of everything as the rest of her family follows behind her.

They sit outside and stuff themselves silly, laughing and trading stories and continually exclaiming over a new dish, praising Amy's cooking. She blushes with pride, finally muttering, “Oh, shut up, Rory helped too.”

Rory looks up from his plate and rolls his eyes. “What she means by that is I did all the shopping and cleaning. Big help, me.”

Amy elbows him. “You're the one that insisted on making a cake, stupidface. You don't call that cooking?”

Rory's ears are tipped red, but he shoots back coolly, “No, actually. I call it baking.”

Before Amy can open her mouth to retort, River reaches across the table to slap his arm. “You made the cake? Why didn't you say anything?! I haven't even had that yet!” She starts to get up, but the Doctor hauls her back down to their bench.

“That's because you don't just go take a slice of you own birthday cake, River, even I know that,” he scolds her. He stands with a flourish and straightens his bow tie with pride. “Here, let me show you.”

“Oh no you don't!” Amy and Rory answer in unison, both scrambling to their feet. “I worked too hard on that cake to let you anywhere near it with fire!” Rory continues, pointing a fork at the Doctor for emphasis.

Amy shoves a stack of paper plates at the Doctor. “Here, Mr. Helpful,  _you_  can clear the table and get us new plates and forks.” She gently pushes River back down as she rises yet again to help. “Not you, River. You're the birthday girl. You sit still and close your eyes like a good girl.”

River is too happy and full to protest, so she obediently closes her eyes. She can hear the three of them rustling around her and fights the urge to peek and ruin the surprise. Suddenly the Doctor is whispering in her ear, startling her with how obscenely close he is. “No cheating River. Keep your eyes closed.” She bites her lip, trying to keep her thoughts in check, and nods as he kisses the top of her hair and moves away again.

Finally, she feels a warmth settle in front of her, and no one moves away this time. “All right, River,” Amy says softly, “You can open your eyes.”

She does and immediately gasps at the sight of the table piled high with presents, Rory's cake on display at the center of it all. It's small and round, covered in dark chocolate icing with “Happy Birthday Melody Pond/River Song” written in raspberry icing across the top. Even for the obscene amount of writing, her father has still somehow managed to fit icing stars, moons and music notes across and around the rest of the cake. She looks up at her father in wonder, and, as if it's a signal, they begin singing “Happy Birthday.” Rory's voice is warm and soft, somehow managing to blend with and anchor Amy's high and slightly pitchy voice. The Doctor's voice plows through unheeding, off-key and going at his own ridiculous tempo, sometimes too fast and at other points much too slow. They're all laughing by the time they try to fit all of her names into the third line. When they finish, Amy nods at the cake. “Go on now, make a wish.”

River stares at the candles flickering softly in the cool evening thoughtfully for a moment before taking a deep breath and blowing them all out in one go. Rory and Amy clap and cheer as the Doctor leans in excitedly. “What did you wish for?”

Amy slaps his arm. “She can't tell us, you numpty, then it won't come true.” She offers the knife to Rory, who cuts a huge slice and hands it over to River. “For the birthday girl,” he grins, bowing with a flourish.

River accepts with thanks and takes a bite, her eyes widening in delight. “Mmmmm, this is amazing! What is it?”

Rory continues handing out slices, looking pleased with himself. “Dark chocolate and raspberry ganache cake. With more dark chocolate and raspberry marzipan for the icing.”

River takes another bite and moans appreciatively, covering a smirk as the Doctor chokes on his first bite. “It's utterly fantastic.” She stops eating to stare at her father. “Whenever did you learn to bake like this, anyway? You never cooked when we were growing up, and certainly nothing close to this.”

Rory doesn't meet her eyes as his ears go red. “Oh, you know, spoilers.” When she blinks at him, confused by hearing the Doctor's phrase on her father's lips, he gives her a half grin and shrugs. “Let's just say that I found myself with a lot of time on my hands to learn some new hobbies.”

The Doctor clears his throat pointedly. “Anyway. Presents! You haven't even opened any of your presents yet, River!”

River rolls her eyes because, really, the man is anything but subtle, but she doesn't protest as he drops a misshapen blue package in her hands. “This one's mine!” he exclaims proudly, as if she couldn't guess. “Open this one first!”

She pats his hand to placate him. “Okay, sweetie, if you say so.” She can't get the wrapping to budge, however, and after several minutes she huffs at him, “What on earth did you wrap this with?”

He frown. “I  _thought_  it was just self-adhesive paper.” He pulls his sonic out and points it at the package. “Here, let me see.”

But River bats his hands away. “No! My presents, I'll open them, thank you!” The wrapping finally gives and River pulls out a long cloth that shimmers in the fading light. “Sweetie, what--?”

“Try it on try it on try it on!” The Doctor pulls River to her feet as Rory rises to light the lanterns hung around the yard. River laughs and watches as he wraps it around her waist, tucking each end in securely. “There!” he shouts, louder than necessary. “Now you've got pockets, River! Put your hands straight down, like this,” he shows her, his gangly arms shooting straight down.

River complies, watching as her hands disappear just below the edge of the fabric. Eyes widening, she stares down, wriggling her fingers experimentally. The cloth and pockets aren't invisible, exactly; they match the exact shade of her dress, but she can see the bulge as her fingers dance inside of the pouches. She withdraws her hands again, and without the bulk of her fingers moving around she can no longer discern the cloth from her dress, even when light flares as Rory lights the last and nearest lantern.

“Camouflage pockets!” the Doctor cries, rubbing his hands together gleefully. “Or, well, not really—more like chameleon pockets, I guess, except they're not lizards, they're pockets—anyway, you can't find them unless you already know that they're there. Can fit all sorts of useful things. Love a good pocket, me.” River kisses him then, both in thanks and as a means to shut him up.

Her parents' presents are all signed from the both of them, but River's known them long enough to know who bought her what. There are knee high brown suede lace up boots from Amy that fit River like a glove, and a gorgeous tea set from Rory that the Doctor promises to add a perception filter to so she can keep it in her cell. There's a wide assortment of teas to go with it, and River takes her time looking over and inhaling each flavor appreciatively. Finally Amy nudges her. “Not to interrupt the very important bonding you have going on there, but you do know that you're only halfway done, yeah?” River blinks and grins sheepishly, reaching for a second poorly wrapped blue box.

The wrapping is once again atrocious, but the gift inside is anything but. “Oh, sweetie,” she lets out breathlessly as she opens the box to reveal a matching set of earrings, necklace and bracelet. The set is fine strands of white gold, strung with tiny stars and planets. She lifts her hair out of the way so the Doctor can clasp the necklace for her, fingering the delicate strands reverently. “It's beautiful,” she says softly, shoving the lump in her throat back down where it belongs.

“For my beautiful wife,” he murmurs, kissing her on the neck before he pulls away to admire her. There's nothing River can think to respond to that, so she just puts on the remaining pieces in the comfortable silence.

When she's finished, Amy claps appreciatively. “Nicely done, Doctor! I didn't know you had it in you!” His ever-so-mature response is to stick his tongue out at her, which Amy only returns in kind.

“Now children, behave,” Rory intones mildly as he hands another package to River with a quick wink. River winks back and accepts the gift, nearly dropping it when it's far heavier than she expects. Inside is a collection of tomes: history, philosophy, anthropology, and sociology texts. As River flips through them excitedly, she finds her father's careful handwriting along many of the margins. She stares up at him, mouth gaping, and he shrugs.

“I needed something to go with the tea,” he tells her mildly, though River's holding years worth of work in her hands. As if sensing her thoughts, Rory continues, “Anyway, I've had them for ages now – most of those notes are really old – so I figured you'd want to look them over and tell me what you think.”

River runs a finger along the spine of the volume she's holding. “I will, thank you.” The words aren't nearly big enough, but she can't find any that would suffice any better, and she knows how much Rory hates to have a fuss made over him. She places the books carefully on the bench and turns to her mother instead, who is laying out a wide flat box across the table. River plucks off the large silver bow and sticks it in the Doctor's hair before rising to remove the lid, her breath catching in her throat yet again.

It's a sleeveless dress, shimmering blue and green with flecks of gold and silver throughout, like the color of a lake calming after a storm. River lifts the dress carefully, holds it against her and spins in delight. There's a thin layer of crinoline in the bottom of the dress, and it billows gently as she turns. She finally halts, grinning widely, and catches and holds her mother's gaze. “Thank you. It's...”

Amy smiles back at her. “Just like the kind you always used to stare at in the shop windows when you thought I wasn't looking. I saw it a few weeks ago and knew that I just had to get it for you.”

River nods, still smiling, but the lump rising in her throat is harder to shove out of the way this time, and she's struggling to respond. Before she can say anything, Amy's across the table and hugging her tightly, River's arms caught still holding the dress as it crinkles between them. River reaches an arm out to hug her mother, still firmly clasping the dress in the other to keep it safely out of the dirt, and the two of them stand in silence as the daylight fades. They finally break apart gently, and Amy helps River lay the dress carefully back in the box.

When they're done, River clasps her hands in front of her. “Thank you, all of you. I just...thank you.” They all grin back at her and wish her happy birthday yet again – Rory's voice soft, Amy's warm and the Doctor's rich and bubbling. As they start to clear the table once more, Rory holds up a hand. “There is one more thing. It's not for your birthday,” he reassures River, whose eyes have gone wide in both surprise and a touch of panic. “I mean, it's for you, but not because today is your birthday. This is your first time here, yeah?” When she nods, still not understanding, he grins and reaches into his pocket. “Thought so. This is yours now.” River holds her hand out, and he drops a silver house key in her palm.

River stares at it, yet again at a complete loss for words. Amy doesn't wait; she just grabs River's arm and hauls her inside, the boys tagging along behind them. “First time here and you didn't even get a proper house tour! Ugh, I am such an awful hostess!” She pulls abruptly to a halt in the kitchen, most of which is still hidden under all the trays and food dishes. “This,” she declares proudly, “is the kitchen!”

Rory snorts behind them. “Oh wow, really Amy? I'm not sure she would have guessed that one on her own.”

Amy whirls immediately to punch him, but Rory's already out of arm's reach and the Doctor gets hit instead. “Pond!” he cries, rubbing his arm. “Rude!”

Amy just rolls her eyes, completely unapologetic, and links arms with River. “Whatever. Now, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted...” and she leads them all through the house, the Doctor and Rory following along and poking fun at her phrasing. River laughs along, but manages to keep out of trouble by also making a point to compliment Amy on her decorating style. She particularly exclaims over the curtains in the living room, the organization in the office, and the comforter that beautifully complements the wall in the bedroom.

The others quiet as they come to the last room at the end of the upstairs hallway, but River's too caught up in the wall hangings to notice. Finally Amy says softly, “Last room,” and opens the door without further explanation.

River steps inside and looks around in admiration. “Oh, Amy, this is lovely! Is this the guest room, then?

It's Rory who answers her, still standing behind her. “No, River. This is your room.”

River turns to stare at them. The Doctor's out in the hallway, scrutinizing the Van Gogh that takes up half the wall, but River knows that he's listening. “My room?” she repeats back dumbly. A small part of her worries, _is this spoilers_?

“Yes, your room, stupid. How many daughters do you think we have?” Amy's trying to sound sharp, but her eyes are worried as she watches River. It's silent for a time as River looks around the room, trying to take it all in. Finally, Amy ventures hesitantly, “Do you like it?”

River _loves_ it, but if she says that now she's going to lose every last bit of composure she's worked all day to keep. Instead she asks, “So do I move in with you two then? Have to admit, it's not quite what I'd expect.”

Rory laughs, although it sounds a bit forced. “No, nothing like that. I guess that's a spoiler, isn't it? Oh well. It's more...it's a place to crash if you ever need to, or someplace to stay if you ever want to visit. Your room, to do what you like with.”

“Although not who you'd like, thank you very much,” Amy adds. “Not in this house.” River looks to see what the Doctor's thinks of this statement, but he's disappeared. Amy looks away from River and starts working her way around the room. “Of course, we can always repaint it if you want, and I know the desk could do with a varnish, and there's always--”

“Amy.” River stops her softly, well aware that it's the first time all day she's called her mother by her first name. She waits until both of her parents are looking at her before continuing, “It's perfect. Really. Absolutely perfect, all of it. I wouldn't change a thing.”

Amy finally smiles and dances in place. “Oh, I'm so glad. We can't put up any real mementos or anything, which is annoying, but 'spoilers' and all that. Still, I figured these books would be okay, and you can always use a desk...”

Amy's still chattering when there's a loud crash from downstairs. The three of them jump, and Amy starts swearing colorfully as the Doctor's voice filters up the stairs. “Everything's fine, Ponds! It just—er--there may have been--” The Doctor's rambling is drowned out by a second crash.

The three Ponds share a look. “'Scuse me, River, but I may have to go kill your husband now,” Amy growls, and heads for the stairs.

River moves to follow, but Rory shakes his head at her. “I wouldn't bother; they'll sort it out. Besides, you've barely even seen anything in here. Take your time and look around, and let me know if it's missing anything, yeah?” When River nods he heads for the stairs, stopping to grab a few towels out of the bathroom. “Have a feeling we're going to need these. We usually do, when he's here.”

When he's gone, River shuts the door, sits on the bed and closes her eyes, pulling in the quiet and calm. After she feels in control of her emotions again, River examines the room more closely, smiling at the books and decorations lining the shelves and dressers. She's heading for the door, ready to rejoin her family, when something catches River's eye. Walking over to the wide mahogany desk, she pulls the beaten calendar off of the wall and laughs when she spots the year. “Bit outdated, don't you think?” she murmurs, but as she goes to hang it back up, she spots markings on the faded pages and her curiosity gets the better of her. Flipping it open, she frowns, confused. There are dates crossed off in no particular order whatsoever, with an odd sort of shorthand written in most of the days marked with an X. “Dinner and movies,” reads the first one on the month she has open. She flips through, but the notes only confuse her more. “Bubble bath and nail polish.” “17th Century Poetry Collection.” “Prom Dress.”

It isn't until she finds today's date marked with a red star and circled three times until it clicks. River quickly sits down on the bed before her knees give out on her, staring at the calendar in shock. The silence in the room grows and stretches until River shakes her head and slams the calendar shut again. Tucking it under her arm, she heads downstairs just in time to witness the Doctor and Amy get into an epic shoulder-nudging match. Rory is just about to intercede when Amy sends the Doctor flying, and he falls mere inches from the remaining cake. In the ensuing shouts and laughter, no one notices River as she slips out to the TARDIS, returning empty handed moments later.

She shoos the Doctor out of the kitchen and helps with the last of the clean-up despite her parents' protests. Loaded down with leftovers and presents, they say their goodbyes, and soon River is waving from the TARDIS doors as the Doctor flies them away. The Doctor pilots the ship into the vortex, then silently offers her his hand. She takes it, and he leads her to the only other room in the universe that is completely hers.

 

Some time later, River's staring off into the distance, lost in thought. The Doctor watches her for a few long moments before tapping her nose softly. “Penny for your thoughts.”

River blinks at him, coming back to herself slowly. “Oh, I just...it isn't at all what I imagined, that's all.”

“What isn't?” The Doctor prods gently.

“This,” River replies, sitting up and stretching her arms wide. “All of it. You, them, I don't –where were you planning on taking me?” she asks abruptly, turning to him.

But the Doctor just smiles at her. “Not telling. I'm just taking you on a different birthday now.” When her answering smile doesn't meet her eyes, he nudges her with his leg. “Tell me, River.”

For just a moment, so brief that the Doctor would've missed it were he not watching her so closely, River looks small and lost. “I just—you all—it's such a big deal to you.” She twists away from him and reaches under the bed. Carefully pulling out the faded calendar, she shows it to him. “I wouldn't tell them my birthday—Mels wouldn't. 'Weapons don't need birthdays,'” she quotes bitterly, pretending she doesn't see the Doctor flinch in response. “But I knew it –always have—I just didn't want to tell them because...because I was a child and stupid and knew, even then, that they'd do something like this and I didn't want them to. I didn't want them to do all that for me just to watch it be ripped away again later. I didn't tell them, and they...they just went and made one up,” she tells him, half angrily and half in awe, turning the calendar so he can see it more clearly. “They didn't even know and they still were trying to find me. Every X is a day they treated me like it was my birthday, giving me presents or buying me treats. On and off between them for years.” She runs a hand through her hair in agitation and continues, “And then I regenerated and went off to the university, and I didn't see any of you for ages, yet every damn year I'd find a care package waiting for me from them, and don't think I don't know who put them there.” She misses the look of surprise on the Doctor's face as he quickly schools it into earnest interest, clearly filing that bit of information away for later. She stares at the comforter and when she speaks again, her voice is fierce and angry. “What am I supposed to do with all of that? How am I ever supposed to repay them?”

The Doctor sits up slowly, reaching to take her hands in his. “I don't think you're meant to,” he tells her softly. When she glares up at him, he smiles sadly in response. “That's what parents are supposed to do.”

River's eyes fade from angry to pained as she looks away again. “I know. But I just...they went overboard tonight—you  _all_  did—like you have something to prove or make up for. And that's what I'm trying to tell you, what I don't understand. There isn't anything to be made up. Ever since you've known me, you've all given me everything you could.”

The Doctor sighs and runs a hand through his hair, trying to form a response in a way that will make sense without giving too much away. “It doesn't feel that way. We're...we're all seeing the same day today from all different timelines, all different lives. And so when we spoil you, like today, there is a bit of an apology there, you're right. But it's not as much as you think, and it isn't always what you think the apology is for.” He shakes his head and looks up at her, the depths of pain in his eyes betraying his smile. “Besides, you know your parents as well as anyone. Do you honestly think they would want to give you any less, even if you'd spent your whole life with them?”

River finally smiles at that. “No, I suppose not. Rory and his dad were always harping on about how important birthdays are—you should have  _seen_ what they did for his sixteenth.” She sighs. “It isn't that I'm not grateful—I am. Very. It's just that they can be completely overwhelming sometimes.”

“Oh, trust me,” the Doctor replies drily, shadows almost completely gone from his eyes, “I'm well aware.” He waits for her to look him in the eyes before continuing gravely, “River, you know your parents didn't throw you that party to apologize. They did it because they care for you, deeply. They always have.”

River pulls a hand free to pluck at a loose string in the comforter. “I know. I just...it's...so much. All of it. Wonderful, but so, so much.” He kisses her then, softly, and she lets him. They break apart slowly, and River smiles lazily at the Doctor. “Now this, on the other hand, I could get used to very quickly,” she purrs, then surprises herself when she yawns.

The Doctor's smile is pure this time. “You're exhausted, River. You should sleep for a bit.”

“I'm fine,” she protests, but he's lying down again, pulling her with him. She lies curled up against him, her body betraying her as it relaxes. None of her plans for this evening had involved sleeping, and she lets out one last protest. “But sweetie--”

“Sleep, River,” he hushes her, his unpinned hand combing through her curls, and River's eyes close in spite of herself. As she drifts off to sleep, wholly and perfectly content, she hears him whisper one more time, “Happy Birthday, my River Song.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the thanks to my brilliant beta, Autumnyarns, for helping to corral the rampant fluff and getting me through the trickiest of bits.


End file.
